Star Wars Destinies

Sirahn's Personal Log

If there’s one thing that will beat the Empire every time, it’s guile. The rigid, militaristic structure is less capable of adapting to the degrees of nuance that can exist within a plan conceived outside the bounds of a military engagement. I’m sure the intelligence arms of the Empire are more capable at this sort of thing, but when compared to the sweeping Galactic presence of the armed forces, the likelihood of encountering such capable adversaries is dramatically lower. I wonder: what does the Empire know about our little group? Perhaps they know we were entangled with the Black Sun, but from the few times that we’ve actually come face to face, it’s been more of a straight-up fight than anything else. I think this is why our plan was ultimately a success. We go in and start causing trouble at the front gate where our ship is impounded and the bucketheads think “Oh look, they’re coming to take their ship back by force, just as we suspected.” Meanwhile our cat burglar of a droid finds his circuitous path clear: right into the hanger bay.

It’s a wonder to think that our plan’s success looked doubtful at one point. Nothing we tried was working to draw away the troopers from their post. This seems to indicate that either these guys are much better trained than I suspect, which is unlikely, or they had some sort of information about what we were planning. I mean, it couldn’t have been something so absurd as just a run of ‘bad luck’: a ludicrous notion touted by smugglers and those of similar ilk to explain why things go wrong when it was obviously a lack of planning or simple ineptitude. No, something fishy was going on.

Perhaps our supposed friends, the so-called Rebels, had some scheme on Vardrah over and above our business deal. But it occurs to me that this is just more paranoid thinking. I never realized how sinister a force this attitude is, spreading from one person or group to the next until all beneficial relations break down and we’re left cut off from the rest of the Galaxy: easy pickings for the Empire. I will not deny I have some lingering suspicion, but this sentiment seems to be ruled out by the facts. After BX-1N infiltrated the hanger and made of with our speeder boat, the business arrangement went down just as planned. And, of further import, the Rebels aided us in liberating the Fang; were they truly out to cause our downfall, they could’ve just taken their brand new IsoTech weaponry and left us high and dry on the station.

I want to have a little holo-chat with Reom once we get back to The Last Resort, reminding him that the free flow of information between allies is always a boon if one wishes to avoid unpleasantness. Had we known of our buyer’s allegiance, the initial meeting might have been planned with more care. Of course, Reom may have been in the dark as well. In that case, well, then we can just have a little chat about some special components I’ll be requiring in the near future. I can’t wait to get back into the lab and spent hours and hours designing something new: something the Galaxy has never seen before!

With world-shattering force, Sirahn was jarred from his musings as the Krayt Fang’s klaxons blared to life. Moving as fast as his legless body could carry him, the Sluissi arrived at the cockpit in time to see the dun silouette of an Imperial Star Destroyer hovering in open space. And not far off its bow was IsoOne and the Blockade Bandit with their own space station completing the scene. The console chirped, indicating that a group of Imperial fighters were bearing down on them, one of which was of a previously unidentified class.

“Get to your fighters,” Sirahn suggested to the others. He grabbed hold of the pilot’s chair and set himself down, scanning as best he could both the sensor reading and the report of his own eyes. Realization slowly dawned on him. This vessel wasn’t strange at all; though it had been many years, Sirahn was indeed very familiar with that ship. It had been the prototype fighter both he and Us’san had been designing before they had their falling out. “But how. . .” came the Sluissi’s mystified response as he punched the engines to full speed.

Iaco Tabanne's personal log

Slipping away from the Imperials wasn’t too tough, but staying hidden while jet-packing around the station was the real trick… I decided it might be a good idea to change my appearance to throw the bucketheads off my scent, so I popped into some entitled fat-cat’s high-rise loft and “borrowed” a really fantastic suit. Afterward, heading down to the cantina that I’d heard about. Right away, I noticed Sirahn and Shorbecca were there — and being harassed by a storm trooper! I took a position near the bar, in case the situation escalated, but it turned out to be that damned droid again — Sirahn really needs to have a look at whatever’s rattling around that tin can BX-1N calls a head. I must’ve looked pretty impressive in my suit, because Sirahn looked truly amazed at my new duds. I suppose that I do clean up nice. We ended up running into one of the rebels at the cantina, and persuaded him to get us a meeting with his group.

Later, we met with the rebels on a tram. We got off to a rocky start, when their leader pulled the old “you’re working with the Imperials” negotiating trick, but I wasn’t falling for it. I think that he respected that, and we were able to move forward with a mutually beneficial deal.

Now we just had to figure out how to retrieve the ship… I hatched an elaborate, some might say ingenious, plan, but we scrapped it and decided to just blast everything in sight again instead.

When did people become so paranoid?

Sirahn’s muscled tail bulged as the wounded Sluissi clung for dear life to the underside of the screaming speeder. He’d already lost a few scales when the vehicle had banked sharply a few kilometers back, but that was a welcome alternative to looking down the barrels of almost two dozen Imperial troops. Not even the Imperial Army, but Stormtroopers! Why would the Emperor’s finest be sent on a routine contraband bust?

The speeder pulled to a halt outside some chic cafe and Sirahn thought this place was as good as any to debark. He winced as he slid out from underneath the speeder: the carbonized wounds from the Imperial blasters still fresh enough to stink of charred flesh. Head turning left and right, Sirahn was suddenly aware of how out of place he was. His worn and practical clothing, not to mention the lack of legs, made it painfully obvious that it would be impossible to simply blend in with the locals. He knew finding a place to stay out of sight was the best course of action, at least until he could find the rest of his crew.

Attempting to be nondescript as he could, Sirahn learned of an out of the way cantina catering to a less homogeneous clientele: The Colliding Suns. Once the Sluissi had caught his breath, he went about the difficult task of bringing his comrades back together. After sending an encrypted transmission to the others, Sirahn sat back and listened to some space jazz and contemplated the afternoon’s events. Had that Imperial officer really called us Rebels? Could that be who our new business partners are? While Sirahn agreed with resisting the Empire in spirit, he was quite uneasy about the notion of fighting the government outright.

Shorbecca had arrived not long after; if it had been difficult for Sirahn to blend in on Vardrah, he had no idea how the Wookie had managed to avoid Imperial attention. The Sluissi’s concerns proved well-founded when a short while later a single Stormtrooper strode in through the cantina’s door. “Spast!” Sirahn cursed under his breath. Sliding under the table, he thought it would be best for both a Sluissi and a Wookie to be seen together. It was to no avail however, as the trooper immediately walked up to the table. When a familiar voice issued from beneath the helmet, Sirahn realized that he’d been holding his breath. “BX-1N, you son of a Gundark!” he hissed. “What in void-space are you doing walking around in that thing?” A few moments of deep breathing allowed Sirahn to comprehend the cycling of the droid’s logic circuits: aside from The Colliding Suns, he’d be able to go anywhere on the station without a fuss. Still, someday I’ll need to do an intense series of diagnoses on that processor of his.

Iaco sauntered into the bar looking ridiculous dressed in some local fashion, but Sirahn was concerned with getting BX-1N out of sight. After some back-alley medicine, the Sluissi tucked the laminate armor away before heading back into the ’Suns. As luck would have it, the Mon Cal from the weapons deal happened to be sitting at one of the booths; it was fortunate indeed that Sirahn had found this place.

It was obvious that this guy, Toklar by name, was frightened to no end, so it took a while to convince him that we weren’t working for the Imps. Still, the Mon Cal didn’t trust us enough to arrange a new deal; the crew of the Fang would have to jump through a few more hoops first. They rented a place for the night, waiting for a communique from those whom Sirahn now suspected were Rebels.

It wasn’t long before the group found themselves sitting in a tram car, the sights of Vardrah’s lavish habitation regions streaming by. One by one, the supposed Rebels filtered into the tram car. Apparently the human male was the cell’s commander, as he opened the negotiations. He immediately took a disliking to Iaco, but Sirahn considered that a bit unfair, as the human was asking for indisputable evidence that our loyalties didn’t lie with the Empire: something which there was no way the crew could provide, assuming these Rebels believed that Imperial Intelligence was a competent organization.

With some tough negotiating, the crew of the Krayt Fang settled on a price and location for IsoTech’s merchandise. The only problem now was to retrieve the goods from their impounded, and well-guarded, ship. After the trade was complete, the Rebels agreed that they would create a suitable distraction so Sirahn and his comrades could free their ship and escape the station. Planning their next move went on late into the night and eventually Sirahn stepped out to acquire a few items that would probably come in handy when going up against a squad of Imperial troopers.

Iaco Tabanne's personal log

Iaco returned for training on Malaziz, and learned some valuable meditation techniques. Later, upon returning to the Last Resort, Iaco and crew receive a message from Reom which indicates that Isotech is having financial difficulties, due in large to the shipments Maru had interrupted. Reom suggests meeting with a group of arms traders to recoup their losses.

Upon arriving at the Vardrah space station, the group heads to the central bridge to meet the arms traders, when bad turned to worse — two squads of storm troopers appear out of nowhere and demand the surrender of both parties, which are both referred to as “rebels.”

Before Iaco could act, the shooting began. BX-1N jumped off the bridge, and into a river far below. Iaco also jumped, but used his jet pack to fly up and latch onto a transport, shifting the ship and depositing three storm troopers into the river below. Iaco plowed through some storm troopers aboard the transport, and then damaged the ship and jumped out for a clean getaway…

S39

‘brzzzt’
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The temple room is dark and quiet until the buzzing of overhead lights try to flicker to life.
Two robed figures walk up the ramp and into the room. Suddenly the shrouded figure on the right ignites her lightsaber and swings it in an underhanded arc at the ambushing droid. The lightsaber crashes against it’s forearms and then flickers out in an impotent burst of plasma.
Not stopped by the attack, the droid falls upon the other figure just as it turns. Deadly vibroknives stabbing deeply into his chest. The jedi falls to the floor in a heap. His hood falling back to reveal the face of a young red skinned devaronian.
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Bixin’s eyes flicker on with a soft white glow. The last thing he remembers is attempting to deal with a mass of insolent droids and falling under a barrage of blaster fire despite excellent predictive algorithms that normally keep him out of harms way.
He looks around the room. He’s back aboard the Last Resort in Sirahn’s private mechanics bay. He looks down at his body and takes stock of the carbon scoring that’s completely destroyed his new paint job. He also notes that his arms and legs have been removed from his torso.
Bixin lays his head back in reflection and thinks to himself that the business of business is much harder than the business of assassination. Going forward, He’ll make note to disable any “inactive” droids or at the very least, examine them more closely.

The camera pans slowly down to reveal an Imperial II Star Destroyer slowly drifting through space. Two TIE fighters on patrol zoom by as the camera slowly zooms closer to the bridge. The camera focuses on an area just off the bridge and continues to zoom in, through the darkened, pristine hallways, to a black door at the end of a hallway. Through the door is a dark chamber, red lights provide scant illumination. A devaronian dressed in purple robes sits at a gloss-finished black desk reading over something on his datapad. A faint chime rings and the devaronian puts his datapad down and presses a button on a console on his desk. The holographic image of an older, bearded human male dressed in robes appears in blue as the holo-projection comes to life.

Clearly annoyed the devaronian replies, “Maru Jakkar is dead. Our negotiations with Black Sun are finished and we have not secured slaving operations from The Pyke Syndicate.”

“The Emperor will not be pleased Inquisitor. This will force us to move up our timetable on Kashyyyk.”

“Then do your job.” the Inquisitor snarks back, then says coldly and with disdain, “My lord. I should be hunting down Jedi, not running criminal operations for YOU.”

If the Inquisitors remarks bothered the human, he doesn’t show it. “What of the renegades that foiled the plans?”

“They will soon be destroyed. I have set a trap for them and they will walk right into my hands.”

“The you ARE doing your job.”

“Hmmrph! Hardly. This kid is hardly a Jedi.”

“Yet, clearly he and his friends pose a threat to our operations.”

“Not for long.”

“See to it, they do not.” With that last command the holo-projection disappears and the Inquisitor pushes a button to end transmission.

The Inquisitor goes back to his datapad. He says, “Oh I WILL destroy them.” and he grins a menacing toothy grin of razor sharp teeth. The camera pans over his shoulder to reveal his datapad, on the screen are profiles for an arkanian off-shoot, an old CIS BX droid, a wookie, and a sluissi.

It's a trap!

Sirahn strained his eyes against the gloom of the underground compound. He chided himself: I really do need to pick up a glow rod at some point. The Sluissi’s tail twitched, hearing movement the dark, but he let out a sigh when he realized that it was only BX-1N skulking about again. Shorbecca issued a low growl and activated the only glow rod the group has. The beam swept back and forth, revealing the custom-built droids in greater detail.

“Definitely Usa’an’s work all right,” Sirahn muttered as he examined his frenemy’s battle droids more closely. They showed not one sign of activity, but he knew that a droid’s power supply could be held on standby almost indefinitely, depending on its design. “These are extremely well put together,” he mused. “I don’t see any way whatsoever to access their internal systems.” He hoped that their activation was contingent upon remote control, as it seemed the complex had been deserted for some time. Best not to linger. Who knows what Usa’an would do in a creepy lair like this.

The entry chamber gave way to tunnels and other small ‘rooms’ in the outfitted cave system. Soon they emerged into another chamber. Lo and behold, a computer terminal! Like the rest of this place, it was only on backup power, so it might not even function at all. Sirahn slithered over to it anyway, his eyes darting, almost straining against the sockets. He was quickly realizing that stims plus the fear of something jumping out of any shadow were not the best mix.

A shaky hand pulled out the datapad and link. Sirahn established a connection, but got nothing but a blank screen. He cracked his knuckles. “Time for some slicing.” Of course, it wasn’t going to be that easy; Usa’an apparently had several layers of firewall to get through before he could get to anything critical. Finding a blueprint of the complex, the Sluissi quickly stored that in the ’pad’s memory, but with no warning whatsoever, warning alarms blared to life. Sirahn nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden destruction of the eerie silence and saw that the Intruder Alert had been activated. “Uh. . .” he started, “I think we’re going to have some company.” Shorbecca heartily agreed. Each drew their weapon of choice and listened for the tell-tale clank of a squad of droids; BX-1N, however, had other ideas.
“You guys play dead and I’ll try to convince the security droids that I’m with them and have already taken care of the problem,” the droid said. It wasn’t a terrible plan, Sirahn supposed, as there was nowhere to take cover in here anyway.

The battle was soon over, as BX-1N wasn’t able to pull of his droid-to-droid diplomacy, and Sirahn still hadn’t succeeded in making headway to any of the compounds main controls. He glanced at the map on the datapad and saw what looked to be the central command center at the rear of the facility. And deeper we go. BX-1N elected to stay behind as the reptile and mammal duo continued on: in order to get the jump on the security droids, or so he said. It’s hard to ever tell with that one.

The command center was huge compared to most of the other rooms in the facility, with many banks of computers lining the edges. What was more, surprisingly, this room alone seemed to have full power. Odd. . . Sirahn was about to start slicing again, when he heard a serpentine voice that awoke distant memories. It was Usa’an! He was communicating via holoterminal. Blast, that means he’s not even here.

Attempting to be as congenial as one could expect given the circumstances, Sirahn attempted to discuss the subject of the old grudge that the other Sluissi still carried. But it was of no avail. Apparently, Usa’an had been captured by the Empire and tortured at length because of Sirahn’s sabotage and when they finally let his old friend go, he required all manner of cybernetic treatments to remain among the living. Sirahn’s heart dropped as the holo-Sluissi hissed on about how his existence was constant torment and that he would never accept an apology for the past. No, this was in fact a trap! The duo heard BX-1N engaged in another shootout with the security droids, but then the comm went silent.

Klaxon’s screamed as the self destruct sequence was activated. “Go get BX-1N and get out of here!” Sirahn yelled to Shorbecca. “I’ll try to put a stop to this.” Again, Usa’an’s cyber defenses were too good for him and, as he saw no alternate exit, Sirahn had to high tail it back to the entrance. They all made it before the facility collapsed, though the Sluissi could hardly breath. Damn. He’d hoped that they could have reconciled some how.

Reom had given the crew of the Krayt Fang a job delivering several crates of Isotech goods to a buyer, but this wasn’t the job to break the trend of ‘exciting work’ they’d been having recently. How come it never goes smooth?! Sirahn thought as Imperial blaster fire reigned down around them. The captain and BX-1N split off from the group: one going up and one going down, while Sirahn charged into close quarters with the nearest band of Stormtroopers. “I swear, we’re not rebels!” Sirahn shouted, at the same time thrusting with his humming rapier. Things seemed to go well for Iaco, but Sirahn could not assert the same for himself. After taking a couple of close-range hits, the Sluissi knew he couldn’t stick around any longer. As luck, the Force, or whatever would have it, a speeder was passing by and Sirahn slithered under and just held on for dear life. Everyone would have to regroup later. . .

Sirahn's nemesis outwits us this time

After managing to track Sirahn’s friend down to a lair in the hills of Quesh, we enter it’s dark and creepy entrance. We are all freaked out by this spooky place filled with old security droids. I crack a glow rod and lead us into the darkness.

We wind our way deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of passages until we find a bank of computers along a wall. Sirahn attempts to get them fired up on their backup power but only a single monitor is alive. Sirahn connects his datapad and suddenly we hear the clanking of the ancient security droids coming to life and heading towards us.

BX-1N attempts to talk down the security droids as Sirahn and I lay prone and play dead. The droids aren’t buying it and a firefight ensues.

Still laying prone, I quickly switch my bowcaster to auto fire and unleash a volley at the droids, killing only one. BX-1N follows suit and blasts them with his blaster carbine dropping several more.

Sirahn finally manages to slice the computer system, downloading a schematic of the lair and the general location of the main computer system. More droids awaken as he fiddles with the computer and start clanking our way.

Sirahn and I retreat deeper into the lair towards the main computer system while BX-1N slinks off into the shadows like he always does and the security droids pass by him without noticing.

Sirahn and I finally make it to the command center and I quickly barricade us in while he attempts to fire up the system. A holographic image of a sluice with half a face who appears to know Sirahn comes up and begins to lay into Sirahn. I hear BX-1N once again taunt the security droids as an image of him appears on one of the monitors. We watch our sneaky robotic companion go down in a ‘blast’ of glory.

Meanwhile, Sirahn’s buddy on the holoscreen activates the lair’s self destruct and alarms begin to sound. I throw aside the barricade I had built in fury and rush through the remaining security droids collecting BX-1N, or what’s left of him, on my way out. Sirahn follows hot on my heels as the whole place collapses, shooting dust out of the entrance and filling my nostrils with the scent of failure.

Sirahn quickly slaps BX-1N back together enough to make it back to the Krayt Fang and we high-tail it back to the Last Resort to lick our wounds.

bumchickawawa

The scene opens with Bixin walking through the door into the maintenance bay. He’s wearing a fluffy white bathrobe monogrammed with the letters M.J.
He merrily walks over to a raised Dias and steps into the center, his metal feet clanking loudly across the grating despite the busy activity in the room.
He casually unties the belt and shrugs the robe off his shoulders. Taking it and folding it neatly before placing it in a bin. Turning around to a control panel he taps away a beat and then re-centers himself in the grate as it slowly sinks into the deck.
With a loud clang the plating slides into place and several nozzles pop out of the wall. They begin to drip with oil. Bixin raises his arms and tilts his head back as the nozzles begin to rotate and spray the hot oil over him.
The high pressured oil loosens and blows away the grit and debris in his joints and gears. Bixin flexes and works his body under the spray and visibly appears to relax and go slack.
Suddenly, the oil stops and the nozzles snap back into place. Bixin settles down onto a small shelf as more oil begins to bubble up out of the grating to fill the hole in the deck.
Hours later, Bixin slowly rises up as blades of air wash over him to remove excess oil from his armored plates. Once the grate slides back into place he grabs the robe and throws it on, not bothering to tie it as he walks I’ve to a waiting technician. He turns his back to the small Jawa named Jasmine and shrugs the robe off into her, then mounts the table.
Jasmine reaches over and let’s the table hydraulics down to her level. She slides a trey over and fills a small vial and screws it into a strange wand. She then leans over Bixin and levels the wand at him, spraying the liquid over him evenly applying a fresh coat of paint. After that, she dips a fine tipped paint brush and draws pin striping over him.
Scene over!

Sirahn: co-owner of a space station!

The comms suddenly came back to life with a familiar electronically-generated voice announcing that Maru had finally bought it! We let the remaining thugs flee the scene, as they now had no incentive to keep fighting. Freeing the slaves that were on the station, the crew of the Krayt Fang (and accompanying fleet) convened to discuss their victory and plans for the future.
A call was put out to Reom, as they knew the Twi’lek’s would be a great asset in establishing this station as a permanent base. Fortunately, Reom was in the market for a medium transport and paid handsomely to take The Lockbox off of the group’s hands.

With this seed money, the next couple months were a flurry of activity, as the station was refit and all necessary repairs were made to the humble fleet. The verdict was in, this place would now be known as “The Last Resort,” sporting a cantina aptly named “Maru’s Folly.”

Sirahn’s long hours in the repair bay set his mind spinning toward less chaotic times and he found himself remembering that he still had an old friend out there. With all the running around while working for and against the Black Sun, Usa’an had hardly been a second thought, but he was owed a visit. That bit of sabotage his ‘friend’ had pulled could have stranded the Fang in deep space for who knows how long. Sirahn recalled running his sensitive fingers across the floor of the Fang’s deck, noticing the dust-like particles left behind by the other Sluissi.
“Quesh. That’s where we’re heading next,” Sirahn muttered to himself as he finished tightening a bolt. They’d run all over the Galaxy in search of relatives and whatever else: now it was time to wrap up some old business that had gone on for far too long.

Two mynocks with one bolt: Sirahn couldn’t argue against efficiency like that. Drop Iaco off at some system in the middle of nowhere and then on to Hutt Space. Fortunately, Sirahn had his wits about him, as Fang was practically on top of the space station when it emerged from Hyperspace. Oddly, this world was much more regulated than Sirahn would’ve thought. He supposed that the Hutts just wanted to corner the adrenal market in addition to their normal spice production. No matter.
The trio made planetfall just in time for a rogue probe droid to nearly knock the Sluissi to the permacrete. Sirahn dismissed it without a second thought and went about searching for Usa’an. But this was to no avail. After a few hours of searching, the group had yet to hear a single rumor of Usa’an, even at the places a Sluissi of his talents would frequent.

It was by sheer luck, perhaps the Captain would mention some ancient superstition, that Sirahn noticed the same type of probe droid spying on the group as they went about their business. Even with just a split-second glance, the genius mechanic noticed the tell-tale markers of his friend’s handiwork. Snatching his datapad from his pack, Sirahn’s fingers danced over the keypad, tracing the droid’s signal to a mountainous region near the city. Hailing a speeder, BX-1N, Shorbecca, and Sirahn flew towards the source of the signal. By foot and tail, the group scaled the cliffs: not without some difficulty on Sirahn’s part. Finding themselves in a small cave, the Sluissi noticed a hidden door which opened to reveal a cavern outfitted with catwalks and several droids. But alas, everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. It seems that Usa’an, if he ever was here, had moved on long ago. However, one couldn’t be blamed for taking a look around. . .

P. S. – BX-1N has this utterly ridiculous notion that he should be outfitted with an additional pair of arms from the decommissioned BX we have on the Fang.